The Yuletide of Machines
by Amilyi
Summary: [G1] The humans think it's finally time to teach the Autobots about the biggest Earth festival in the Western world. Prime and some others... have their doubts.
1. Cards

A/N: Bah, humbug! I'm here to interject some cynicism into this occasion. Call me a Scrooge, but I believe that if you shouldn't be falsely nice to people (especially those you don't get on with), however you should be the best person you can be _all year round_. The movies on TV this year have only been about getting what you want, not so much about sacrifice or helping others at all. And religious messages like the holiday should be about? Ha! I'm not even Christian or Catholic, but it saddens me to think what children are learning from this festival.

These ficlets are in response to a community challenge over on livejournal. There were twelve prompts given, which are the chapter titles. The idea of Christmas cards causing each story was inspired by looking at the card-festooned door of the girl I baby-sit for.

Have a _Happy Commercialism Day,_ one and all!

* * *

**Cards.**

It all started out quite innocently enough, as many things do. This would be the Autobots' second winter on the planet, and Spike, Carly, Chip and some of their other human friends had decided it was about time to introduce them to Christmas.

"What's this?" Optimus Prime asked as Spike handed him a small red rectangle.

"It's a Christmas card. Go ahead: open it!" Spike replied. Prime's puzzlement, only fanned by this response, turned its attention back to the small object in his hands. The one side seemed impossible to get into. He thought about tearing it, but that would only damage the contents inside. He turned it over and the back appeared to have creases.

"Ah…" Spike smirked with excitement at seeing this perplexed forty foot being discovering human customs. Optimus thumbed the creases of the envelope, but it was too small for his large fingers to have an effect. He made several more attempts before handing it back to the young human. "Er, I think _you_ will have to open this for me Spike." The teenager laughed and opened the envelope, passing it back to the Autobot leader. There was something inside. He took it out and looked at the tiny writing. "Kathay Richards Designs. One hundred percent recycled paper." Spike burst out laughing.

"Other side Optimus – other side!" Prime did as he was told. There was a drawing of an evergreen tree – much like the ones surrounding the base – decorated in yellow and red daubs of shiny balls and what appeared to be lights. Humans clothed for cold weather encircled the tree, holding hands while stars shone in a black sky above. One shone brighter than all the rest.

"What's this?"

"Open it up and read the message." Optimus shrugged and again did as he was told. Inside it read in a mixture of scrawling handwriting and printed letters:

_To Optimus Prime,_

**_Wishing You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year_**

_Love from,_

_Spike and Sparkplug._

Prime read the message through not once but twice, studied it long and hard and then turned back to Spike.

"'Merry Christmas'?"

"Yeah Prime – Christmas! It's a traditional western Earth holiday. It happens at this time of the year, every year." Prime thought back to the year before; they had only been active on the planet for a couple of months. When the Decepticons had been 'defeated', it had been Autumn. The Autobots had spent the rest of the Earth year busy preparing a ship to take them back to Cybertron, along with arranging for the energy transportation and collection from the Earth's governments to revitalise their own world. Come to think of it, the politicians had spoken about a 'season of goodwill' and 'a time of generosity' – could the energy have been a festive gift and he had not realised it? They had made no time for joining in with Earth's customs in all of the excitement of finally ending the war and rebuilding.

"It happens every year?"

"Yeah – singing and dancing and gift-giving, good food and drink, parties and all sorts. It's the main festival of the human year. You're gonna love it, Optimus!" At least three of the human's words caused his spark to shudder: he thought of Ratchet and parties. He thought of the twins and 'gift-giving'. He thought about it happening _every_ year. If it was really that successful, it could possibly go on forever. Optimus had to be quick and tactful – it was time for damage control.

"Spike, did you give cards to anyone else?"

"Well, yeah. Carly, Chip and myself, we gave cards to all of the Autobots." Optimus flinched inside. "We couldn't find you earlier, so you were the last to receive your card. Sorry Prime." Before Optimus could formulate a response, Inferno entered the room.

"Hey Spike! I liked ya card," the fire engine smiled. "One thin' though – what's a Yule log?" Perceptor followed in close behind.

"It was rather thoughtful to include us in your ceremonies, Spike, but tell me, who is this large chap dressed in red and white?"

"What-" Mirage appeared from behind them and startled them all. "-is mistletoe?"

Optimus took a step back and watched as his Autobots swamped the human with questions about this festival. _Too late to stop it now_, Prime thought to himself. _We'll just have to wait and see what happens and take it from there_. And so it was, with the simple gesture of cards, that the Autobots found Christmas.

End.

* * *


	2. Tree

**Tree.**

"I want a Christmas tree."

"No." This simple exchange had been going on all weekend. Prowl and Sideswipe had carried this argument through every room, every corridor and _every_ conversation. The result had split the base into three factions: those that welcomed Christmas, those who did not and those who probably could not care less.

"But I really, really want a Christmas tree!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it is a waste of time and resources when the Decepticons could strike at any moment."

"Aw, you always use that excuse when you don't want us to do anything interesting in the base!"

"Then you will realise the futility of your argument this time and give it up." Fat chance.

"Tree."

"No."

"Tree."

"No."

"No tree?"

"Red Alert," the security director jumped at the mention of his name. He had learned – and very quickly at that – that there was only misery to be had from getting involved in Ark arguments. "Explain to Sideswipe why it is implausible to have a Christmas tree from the perspective of security." There was a long silence.

"Actually, I see no problem. It's only a tree." His upper torso remained calm and he concentrated on a data-pad while his legs propelled him out of the room. Prowl's optics followed the white Lamborghini from his sight.

"So… we can have a tree?"

"No." Sideswipe pouted, disappeared and reappeared, clutching Windcharger, Bumblebee, Grapple and Sunstreaker.

"They agree with me," Sideswipe said, gesturing to the minibots and the architect. Prowl turned to look at Sunstreaker. "Oh, he's only here because he's coming with me to Portland."

"Nearly out of wax," Sunstreaker explained.

"But the tree!" The red twin continued.

"It would be fun to indulge in the humans' traditions," Grapple coaxed.

"Yeah. We might understand them better," Windcharger cajoled.

"I've spoken to Spike and it sounds really, really fun!" The yellow minibot grinned excitedly. "I don't understand how we missed it last year. Please Prowl? _Please?_" Prowl contemplated their words.

"No."

"You mean, we aren't celebrating Christmas?" Prowl turned to the hurt voice. The young grey Datsun had overheard the conversation as he passed through the control centre. Bluestreak went over to Prowl and looked up into his gaze. Bluestreak's optics went large and deep-hued. His slightly parted lips trembled faintly and none who looked into that face could ignore the sad lustre. It was like a beautiful, innocent child in sickened longing, who had been told that he would not get any presents that Christmas because Santa could not be bothered to stop at his house. It was painfully distressing. Prowl turned away.

"Grapple, get Hoist and a large saw: we're going tree hunting."

* * *

"Please explain to me one more time why we couldn't just take the nearest evergreen tree to the base," Prowl stated.

"I'm telling you Prowl, it has to be _special_! It has to be a certain height, in good condition, with lots and lots of branches to hang stuff from!" Sideswipe looked up and around wildly, still scanning for the perfect tree. He had insisted on coming along to 'help', and no-one had been able to say no to Bluestreak.

"Well, how about _these_?" Prowl gestured to the forest in general that surrounded the Autobot base.

"Ha-ha! And people think you don't have a sense of humour!" Sideswipe held Spike's card out to Prowl. "See this? _That's_ the kind of tree I want!" To Prowl, it was an ordinary tree with fancy decorations. He thought it best not to tell Sideswipe that, and kept on walking.

"How about we go into Portland and buy a tree?"

"A little pot-plant? No! We need something for our height. Otherwise, we'll never experience that Christmassy feeling, will we?" He grinned at Bluestreak, who grinned back in return and bounced up and down with the excitement of one who was _not_ out in the cold and dark, looking for a tree in a forest.

"These are even the wrong kind of tree; we need a pine tree, not a fir."

"Ah, we'd never get a pine in time for Christmas – an evergreen's an evergreen, right?" Sideswipe shrugged and at the same moment, Bluestreak stopped and pointed. His target was an evergreen about a head taller than a dinobot. The branches were perfectly green and dotted with seeds; nothing was broken or dying. "Ooh! Nice choice, Blue!" Sideswipe slapped him on the back and Bluestreak returned his affection with the excitement of a child who had just completed his first pageant. To Prowl, it was just another tree.

"Alright, Grapple, Hoist: we've made our selection." _Finally_. "Cut it down." And thus, the bickering began over how to cut it down and transport it to the Ark without damage.

* * *

Jazz turned and whistled a long, low note at the dirt tracks that wended their way from the forest, through the corridors and into the common room.

"Any troubles?"

"It was muddy," Hoist complained.

"So what we usin' for decorations?" Jazz looked around and saw nothing. Every optic in the common-room turned to Prowl. Without ever meaning to, it seemed that he had become the 'Christmas Director'. Prowl turned to look at Wheeljack.

"Are those Christmas lights ready, Wheeljack?"

"The ones you asked me ta construct a few hours ago before ya went out? Sure, they're ready."

"And the tinsel and baubles, Perceptor?"

"Red and yellow tinsel and every colour of bauble imaginable. I'm currently finishing off the blue and violet ones though," Perceptor replied. Prowl could feel Bluestreak radiate happiness and excitement, and many of the other 'bots were not far from the same emotions. Prowl's smile slid onto his face. If they were going to celebrate 'Christmas', they would do it properly, and everything would be ready with military precision, come Decepticon attack or calm. Of course, Prowl knew better than to expect calm; the common-room Autobots were already arguing over who would decorate the tree and how it would be done. For some reason, Sunstreaker's foot had pushed Sideswipe back and had worked its way into his brother's mouth. Prowl did not realise it, but with all of the spats and stress and squabbling, they were about to experience a genuine human Christmas.

End.

* * *

A/N: Edited due to spelling error. Thanks to the reviewer who picked up on that! 


	3. Snow

**Snow.**

The weatherman had said that there would not be any snow falling in the Oregon state that year. Since a lot of the Autobots considered snow to be related to this 'Christmas', there were some who were quite disappointed. Then there were the ones who were not – for example, a particular white and red ambulance.

"Well I'm glad there's no snow here this year – I can still remember what happened the year before – and in fact every time we went to any snow-scape!"

"Aw, y' ol' Scrooge!" Jazz flicked a hand in the direction of Ratchet and grinned smugly at getting a reference in from some of the Christmas films he had been watching.

"So you don't remember what happened last year? Well then, let me give you a reminder!" Ratchet flung himself into a dramatic re-enactment of a famous conversation that caused a few 'bots to gather near. "Hound, Trailbreaker, what are you doing on that sheet of ice?" The medic said dryly to the ceiling. "It's dangerous – come off of it." His voice slid into a rather sarcastic version of Hound's voice. "Oh, don't be _silly_ Ratchet! This – thing's – _solid_!" Ratchet accented his last three words with heavy stomps onto the floor. He then changed into his impression of Trailbreaker. "Yeah; it won't _glub_!" He paused for dramatic effect, making sure to take in Hound and Trailbreaker in particular, smirking at their own misfortune at the sidelines of Ratchet's outburst. " '_Glub?_' I said to myself. 'What is this _glub_? Is it some new Earth colloquialism that they've picked up? Is it some street slang?' Of course, when I asked for the meaning of 'glub' I didn't get a reply: quite rudely, they were both too busy _sinking_ through freezing water to the bottom of the lake."

"So I take it ya don't like snow, then?" Jazz asked. "Or ice, or winter fer that matter?" Ratchet presented Jazz with one of his best sneers and stormed back to the med-bay.

"Don' worry fellas – ah've got yer snow right here!" Inferno smiled mischievously and raised his nozzle hand. Before anyone could say anything, he sprayed the floor with thick, white fire-retardant foam. It looked just like snow.

"Hey! _Wham! Pow!_ Looks like we can –_zow!_ – have some fun with this!" Warpath held up a thumbs-up.

"Well, what are y-"

"Inferno!" The familiar voice of the security director cut him off mid-sentence. "What is this? Was there a fire? It must be cleaned up immediately – it's a security risk!" Inferno turned towards his companion.

"Relax, Red ol' buddy!" He shrugged and held his arms out in a friendly gesture. "We're only havin' some fun!" He took a step forward, slipping on his own foam. His right leg shot forward and he would have done the splits had his left knee not heavily impacted with the flooring. The loud smack caused everyone to go quiet with sympathy. "Red," The fire engine cried hoarsely.

"What is it, Inferno?" Red Alert was genuinely concerned. He leaned in closer.

"Ah think ah need a medic."

* * *

Ratchet worked on Inferno in complete quiet; the fire engine had gone stiff with fear for the CMO's consternation. Ratchet himself was being quite testy and although he was gentle with his repairs, his movements were abrupt and violent.

"Inferno, do you know what caused your pain?"

"Fallin' over?"

"No, dislodged gears and broken pistons in your left leg-to-calf joint, caused by falling over, which in turn was caused by fake snow, better known as _fire retardant foam_. But no, don't worry about cleaning it up: it was considered such a hazard to my mental health – oh, and the physical health of many an Autobot – that Prowl corralled the bystanders into cleaning up your mess." Inferno's face-plate heated with guilt. To take his mind away from the procedure, he looked around the room and saw a small collection of the human's cards on his desk. Most of the designs he had seen before, but one in particular caught his eye: a human in white clothing, with large swan-like wings and a circle of light behind its head. In one hand it held a staff – the intertwined snakes, a symbol of healing. In the other, he held a ball of light.

"What's that card wi' the winged human on it s'pposed ta mean?" Ratchet gave the card in question a brief glance.

"Carly's card: Raphael, angel of healing, consecration and truth. May he grant you his mercy, because I'm certainly not in the mood to do so." With those words, he sealed up Inferno's leg. "Right, you're free from my clutches. Get going." Inferno stood up and did as he was told.

"Thanks Ratchet."

"Ah, wait one minute," Ratchet intoned. "I just want to check: what have you learned from this experience, Inferno?" The fire engine put some space between himself and Ratchet, expecting that the ambulance would not like his answer.

"That ah shouldn't use foam as fake snow," he replied cautiously. Ratchet gave an approving nod. Inferno sidestepped closer to the door. "Ah should use powder instead!"

End.

* * *


	4. Mistletoe

A/N: Many thanks to all of my reviewers so far. May your stomachs be stuffed and your desire for physical possessions sated.

* * *

**Mistletoe.**

"Look, I just don't get this card from Astoria, okay?" Powerglide griped to his fellow minibots. On the table in front of them was the offending object: a card (obviously of high quality paper and inks) featuring two humans – one male and one female – in formal wear. They were standing under a bush of mistletoe. Snow filtered down from above them and light glowed warmly through panelled sash windows. Powerglide dated the scene – minus its inaccuracies – to Victorian England. "I mean, why is there a specific plant to kiss under in human culture? It's absurd!" Brawn shrugged.

"I find most of what humans do to be absurd," he replied with blasé. Chip overheard them and laughed.

"You know, Spring follows Winter," he said.

"Yeah, so?" Powerglide moved his hand in circles, gesturing for Chip to continue.

"Well, Spring is the time when most animals mate and produce young." Powerglide and the others were blatantly not getting the point. "Mistletoe is a fertility symbol," Chip bluntly replied, smirking and waiting for a reaction.

"Oh," Seaspray and the red plane replied together. "Still, she's human and I'm a robot! We can't, y'know, _reproduce!_"

"Still," Chip countered, "she _is_ in love with you." Brawn and Cliffjumper were smiling away with the direction the conversation was going.

"Now wait here just one cycle you-"

"Oh, Powerglide!" An alluring voice called from around the corner of the common room. The leg of a human female came into view, followed by the rest of Astoria. She was wearing a thick but low-cut red dress and draped in fleecy white fur. "I have something for you!" She was twirling a sprig of mistletoe around in her fingers.

"Be right there, Astoria!" He turned to the others. They were close to fits of laughter. "See ya later, fellas," he told them cockily, standing and jauntily swaggering towards his human love. Bumblebee was the first one to crack.

"Heheh! I don't think ol' Powerglide thinks mistletoe is quite as absurd now!"

End.

* * *


	5. Presents

A/N: Unhappy with the end result as it feels horribly rushed to me, but I don't have time to redo it. Enjoy this humble little story as it is.

* * *

**Presents.**

"And what did you get for Christmas, Mirage?" Mirage only shrugged, not even bothering to look the disabled human in the eye.

"Forgive me, Chip, but I really cannot see the point of this festival. If I want something, I will buy it myself: that way I know it is what I want."

"But didn't you ever buy gifts for anyone on Cybertron?" Chip asked. It had been a terrible question to ask: Chip had evoked long-buried memories of friends he had spent the days with and fembots that he had courted, in particular one the colour of amethysts and the purest snow, glistening like grains of crystal in sunlight. He had spent hundreds of thousands of credits upon them all, and especially her, only wishing for their happiness. And yet, physical possessions had never brought them true happiness, just like it had never done for him. He looked to the ceiling, again refusing to look the human in the eye. He did not reply until he was sure his voice would remain steady.

"No," he said at last. "No, I never really bought gifts for anyone; I paid for theatre tickets and for concerts, etcetera, but I never bought anyone a proper gift." Knowing how long Mirage had lived for, Chip could not quite believe his words, even if he was an alien with differing customs.

"Well, now is your chance to start! This is the season of generosity and altruistic ambitions, after all." Mirage looked the human in the optics, wearing an expression that looked quizzically unimpressed.

"But in the end, don't we only make others happy to make ourselves happy? In the end, isn't all of it selfishness?"

"Heh, well, I'm sure everything could be twisted to be considered selfish means in the end, yet does it really mean we shouldn't strive to make each other happy? Come on then Mirage – I'm taking you somewhere special." The human turned himself around and wheeled his way towards the Ark exterior. Although the spy did not feel like going on an excursion, the human had caught his interest.

* * *

When Mirage made his way outside, he noticed Optimus Prime waiting there in his alt-mode. Chip was already inside his cab. 

"So you're coming with us then, Mirage?" Prime asked, doubt staining his words.

"Yes," Mirage answered, just as unsure. Just where was this human leading him?

"And you're also paying for half of these gifts?" At that, Mirage was stunned into silence.

"Yes," he said at last. After all, to the rich, money was only money. But neither Optimus nor Chip would tell him anything about what they were doing and where they were going. He had a decision to make: he could spend the day finding out what they were doing by going with them on this little 'quest', or he could spend it in the relative comfort and sanitation of the Ark doing whatever he pleased at whatever pace he desired. _Yet,_ Mirage reasoned, _more days like that will come_.

"Well, are we all set?" Chip asked cheerily. Mirage would almost say that the boy was smiling with excitement.

"Yes," Mirage replied once more.

"Well then, let's be off!"

* * *

When they turned off the motorway, they did not go to the theatres or clubs or even the town centre, festooned with decorations and lights and their great big Christmas tree. Instead, they turned down an ordinary street, passing the ordinary houses, some of which were lit up with festive lights. This was a strange place where Mirage had never been before, made even more unrecognisable in the early evening darkness. 

"Where are we going?" He asked Chip and Optimus with growing irritation.

"Shh! You'll see soon enough, Mirage!" When at last they began to slow down, Mirage pulled up behind his leader and transformed. He looked up at a three storey building of 1920s architecture. There were large windows, covered in dust and smears. Light from inside glowed brightly and warmly against the harsh brown brickwork. He noticed that the door was elevated higher than the street, and that a ramp went up to it. This small detail stood out to Mirage, as most of the other buildings of similar design had steps.

Prime's hand gently touched his shoulder and as Mirage began to turn around, small packages were placed into his arms.

"Take good care of those now," he told the Ligier, before cradling an arm full of human-sized presents himself.

"Well, we'd better go get our hosts then!" Chip pulled himself up the ramp and knocked at the door. Mirage looked up at the windows, expecting to see at least one face appear. No one looked out. The door opened, and a male human greeted them.

"Ah, hello, hello! So wonderful to have you here! Come inside, come inside – oh wait, you can't fit! I'll go and get the children!" He had already gone back inside before Optimus could even say a word. Chip smiled back at both of them with an unusual sort of joy that Mirage had never seen in the boy before. What was so special about this place? It had become obvious that this was a charity of some sort, but what…? The door came ajar again and a young human female – no older than ten – came through the door, pushing herself along in her wheelchair. She stopped by Chip but ignored him almost completely, gaping up at the two Autobots.

"Waow," she said in awe and stretched out a hand to Optimus. Prime extended and index finger out to her and she grabbed hold. Although Mirage could not see Optimus's face beneath his battle mask, it was obvious to him that he was smiling. Just as the two let go of each other, five more children in wheelchairs came out of the house, followed by two more. Some were far livelier than others.

"Children! Come on now, children! Be careful now, you don't want to get yourselves hurt in your excitement!" The human male from before stood in the doorway, trying to watch over the energetic bunch. Chip looked up to Mirage, his face still holding the smile, but looking far more serious.

"This is a children's home for wheelchair-bound children whose parents cannot take care of them," he explained. "I try to do my bit for them, circumstances being somewhat similar," he gestured to his legs, and when he looked back into Mirage's optics, his eyes looked sad. "You can't save the whole world, can't donate to every single charity. But you know, when we all look after our little bit, everything becomes right."

"Yay! Presents! Presents!" The children screamed. Optimus bent down and began giving out the gifts. When Mirage only watched, Optimus gently elbowed him in the chassis before the Ligier did as he was shown. Mirage did not quite understand what he was supposed to be getting from this: there were many grateful children, and a few disappointed ones, but he could not find the happiness from this deed that Optimus and Chip found. He could not find the happiness, yet nor could he find any sadness either. He just felt… peace. He wanted more, he _wanted_ to be happy, but he was unable to feel it: there were just too many memories. Too much loss. Too much pining. And so he settled for the peace, and waited for the day when he would be truly happy and giving his own gifts once more, knowing that his happiness would one day come again.

End.

* * *


	6. Lights

A/N: It has just occurred to me how random the placement of some of these stories is: some occur before Christmas day, some on Christmas Day, and some after. I'm afraid they come out in the order I write them: you'll have to decide for yourselves when they take place. This one, for example, takes place before 'Presents'. It was going to take place on Christmas Eve, but then I wouldn't have time to add in 'Decorations', which falls in after.

* * *

**Lights.**

It was four days before Christmas, and all of the Autobots had gathered in the common-room to surround the Christmas tree. Little strings of lights swirled up and down the branches, along the walls and draped and dangled from the ceiling. The tinsel and baubles glinted in the soft orange lights. Perceptor and Wheeljack had worked together to create a fantastic five-pointed, sun-coloured crystal for the top of the tree. Prowl's strategic placements of the ornaments had made it beautiful, but their own, more unusual additions had made the tree special: Carly and Chip had suggested that the Autobots should each create a decoration for the tree, and place it on in secret. The item had to have some meaning to the person who 'made' it. Individuality had certainly been attained: someone had hung up a used paint-brush, while one Auotbot had made a cast of a deer's hoof and added it to the tree, and another mechanoid had decided to hang a simple golden ring from some string tied to a branch. Someone had added a symbol to the tree. When Red Alert had investigated its meaning, he found that it related to a long-destroyed city and decided not to look into the matter any further.

Wheeljack made his way to the front of the crowd, holding out a large black box with a bright red button on it. The whole room fell silent as the scientist cleared his vocalisers.

"Ladies, Gentlemen and my fellow Gentle-mechs," he said, taking in Carly, Astoria, Chip, Sparkplug, Spike, Raoul and his comrades. "We have approachin' a special day in th' human year, and although it may not be somethin' we usually celebrate, I am happy ta celebrate it wit' all a' you. Although men in red breakin'-an'-enterin' an' wing-ed humans might not cause all a' our fuel-pumps ta fill wit' warm fuzziness," he paused as some of the mechs laughed. "Sharin' it wit' you does. An' I can't think of a single place I'd prefer ta be right now." About all of the crowd let out one single, simultaneous 'aww': some meant it genuinely, others like Ratchet were being affably sarcastic. "Now some o' yer might 'av noticed the button in my 'and. Now let me tell ya: the display you are about ta see was inspired by a Christmas card Sparkplug gave ta me. It had a tree, not too different from this, an' all o' these lights covered th' tree an' the room an' it looked amazin'! Now I got ta thinkin'-"

"Get on with it!" Ratchet heckled before taking a swig of high-grade.

"Yeah – get on with it!" Cliffjumper chuckled.

"So without further ado, I give ya: Christmas lights!" He pressed the button and everyone looked on in awe.

The glassy bulbs slowly filled with tiny dots of light that glowed brighter and brighter. Then they went out altogether – taking the usual lights with them. The blue glow of two dozen pairs of wide Autobot optics easily told Wheeljack how bewildered his companions were. Then they all focused on him, and went into narrowed slits.

"Wheeljack!" Ratchet shouted, his high-grade glowing and thrusting along with the medic's pointed finger in the direction of the inventor.

"Aha. Heh heh. Jus' one sec, guys." Wheeljack scrambled over to the common-room doors. They would not open. "Ah. Looks like all of the power's gone." The Autobots were all stuck together, in the same room, in the dark.

"Me Grimlock not stay here! Me open doors!" The Dinobots began charging around, looking for the doors.

"Watch the tree, watch the tree!" Perceptor shouted, worried his prized crystal might break.

"Watch the humans! Don't step on the humans!" Bumblebee shouted, making sure to gather and protect as many as he could from being jolted. Only Prowl and Prime had the sensibility to put on their headlights. It was quite amusing, Wheeljack looking like he was a rabbit trapped against the doors as the Dinobots approached him. In fact, he suddenly managed to find the strength to wedge the doors wide enough to crawl through. The power came back on before the night was gone was over, but poor Wheeljack decided that it was wiser not to show himself until tempers were subdued. Ratchet joined him in his workshop and handed him some high-grade. When he beheld the sorrowful expression, Ratchet could not help but chuckle at the many misadventures of his dear companion. Life would never be the same without him.

"Merry Christmas, old friend."

"Merry Christmas, Ratchet."

End.

* * *


	7. Decorations

A/N: Edited due to a name mistake. This is why you shouldn't run through your work, checking for errors when you're tired at 1.40 am. Thanks again to the person who spotted the fault.

* * *

**Decorations.**

After driving through Portland and several other towns over the past couple of days, Prime had to admit it: the base looked bland. He had assigned the task of buying Christmas decorations to three of his crew: Tracks, Sunstreaker and… Ratchet. The first two were obsessed with gaudy beauty and would make sure that the Ark got the very best. Ratchet would be there to make sure that they did not take things too far (and, Primus forbid, heal any wounds if the two came to blows). With a budget of $100, they were to decorate the entrance to the Ark, the corridor of the living quarters, and the common-room. Considering the length of the corridor, the size of the two rooms and the size of human decorations, their generous budget really was not going to stretch very far.

"We already decorated a tree – do we really have to spend up to one hundred dollars on worthless glittery bits just to decorate the Ark for a few weeks?" Ratchet complained over the communications system as they drove into Portland.

"Oh, come now, Ratchet!" Tracks retorted. "It's meant to be fun! How often do we get to do things like this and really integrate with the locals?"

"We get a big chance to integrate with the locals: see Spike and Sparkplug at the base all the time? They're _integrating_! We're _welcoming_ them! And according to Sparkplug, Christmas is supposed to be 'less enjoyable than breaking every bone in your body and feeding yourself through a pair of sheet-metal rollers'."

"Ah, you big spoiler-sport, Ratchet!" Sunstreaker countered. "I am going to give the base the best decorations ever and all within our budget – you'll be _stunned_ by my beautiful creation as well as my usual beauty!"

"I think you'll find my choice of decorations more appealing, Ratchet," Tracks interrupted. "They'll be far more tasteful than anything that garish yellow monstrosity could ever pick." Sunstreaker answered by swerving in Track's direction, causing the Corvette to move away and off the road as swiftly as possible.

"Stop it, both of you!" Ratchet hollered. "I swear by Primus, if you two don't behave the only thing you'll be decorating is my med-bay – with your body-parts!" Ratchet added, as if he had not made himself obvious enough. Apart from the occasional mutter, the three spent the rest of the journey in quiet contemplation of what they would buy in Portland.

* * *

"You see this?" Tracks asked the shop-keeper, pointing to his Christmas card. "I want those."

"That's mistletoe, sir," the shop-keeper replied.

"Well I want eight branches. Bunches. Bushels – whatever you call them!" The shop keeper nodded and went inside. Ratchet was currently filled with three rolls of peel-off snowflake wall decorations, several kinds of stretchy ceiling decorations and Sunstreaker was just loading him up with fifty large sheets of different metallic coloured pieces of paper for the others to make paper-chains out of.

"I can't decide on the red tinsel or the yellow tinsel," Sunstreaker said to himself. "You know, the yellow is more colourful, but it's not a nice shade; it's not a _classy_ yellow."

"Just like you then, is it?" Tracks replied. Sunstreaker looked about ready to wring Track's neck with the glittery rope.

"Sunstreaker, just hurry up and choose! We've been here for four hours already!" Ratchet demanded, receiving a clip around the roof for his outbreak. "Hey!"

"Your own fault – it's your own fault," Sunstreaker countered unconvincingly. The mistletoe and reams of red and _gold_ tinsel were packed into the back of him and they were finally done.

"How much money do we have left?" Ratchet queried.

"Twenty-two dollars and seventy-six cents," Tracks answered. Sunstreaker snatched it from him.

"I know what I'm going to spend this on! You go take Ratchet back to the Ark," Sunstreaker ordered.

"But-"

"Nope, now scram!"

"You'd better not spend it on a premium carwash, you self-obsessed slag-heap!" Ratchet growled.

"Takes one to know one," Sunstreaker brilliantly riposted.

"I know you're one because I've had to put you back together so many times!" With that, Ratchet sped off with his Corvette escort trailing behind.

* * *

The moment Ratchet made contact with the Ark flooring, he unceremoniously dumped the decorations onto the ground and went to the nearest energon-dispenser.

"Have fun putting up the decorations," he grumbled as a gang of Autobots trotted past him. "Oh, and that paper is for making paper-chains. Ask Wheeljack for glue but if you get your hand stuck on or up your aft don't come running to me." Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Bluestreak were the first ones to get to the decorations. Surprisingly, Ironhide was one of the first few to take interest as well, despite his leisurely pace. _Well, Sparkplug did say that Christmas was for the kids_.

* * *

Ratchet had to admit, Wheeljack had done a brilliant job with the strings of lights: when he had sat alone in the dark, he could almost imagine the bulbs being tiny, twinkling stars. It was such a pretty effect, he felt a touch of sadness come over him at the thought that they would all be taken down in a few weeks.

Ratchet left the common-room the moment the _gaggle of goons_ came waddling in. He wanted peace and quiet, and knowing that he had no patients in his med-bay at the moment, that is exactly where he retreated to. Only, someone had been there before him. Snowflake designs had been put onto the wall in sporadic patches that were – thankfully – not gaudily overdone. He admired the designs and leaned against his work-surface, brushing up against something made of cloth. When he turned to look, he saw a small host of angels of varying sizes standing on his desk. There was a short, hand-written note beside it: 'Thank You' was all it said, yet it meant far more than the formulaic 'Merry Christmas' greeting ever would. He knew it was Sunstreaker's writing.

"Huh." Sometimes, the anti-social troublemaker surprised him with his thoughtfulness: Ratchet spent most of his time repairing damaged Autobots or helping Wheeljack and never really got to see the common-room or the tree. Now he had his own little piece of Christmas in his own special little space. Sometimes… sometimes the troublemakers could be the most thoughtful, and they helped give him that extra little spark to his daily life.

End.

* * *


	8. Reindeer

**Reindeer.**

"It's metaphorical," Spike stated.

"So this Jesus carpenter wasn't really the king of kings?"

"Well, yes and no. You see, it's metaphorical, Sunstreaker."

"So he wasn't _literally_, the lord of lords?"

"It's metaphorical."

"And will he reign forever and ever? I mean, at most, human life-spans are only just over one hundred of this planet's cycles. And, just to throw a bit of fluid into the electrics, his religious text _does_ say he _dies_!"

"It's metaphorical."

"The death or the reigning forever and ever part?"

"Well, kind of both, really." _Now_ Sunstreaker _was_ confused.

"And what about Santa Claus? Is he a metaphor too?" Spike harrumphed.

"No!" Sunstreaker's optical ridges shot up – he had been expecting this jolly red man who flew through the sky without wings and fitted down implausible gaps to be a metaphor too. So he really existe- "He's a lie we tell children to make Christmas more magical!" Never mind.

"I see. So this celebration isn't based in _reality_ much, is it?"

"Well, the gifts are plenty real, aren't they?" Sunstreaker smiled at the thought of being given presents by all of the Ark crew. Of course, he would have to give things back, but he still liked the idea of the attention.

"So what about rain-deer; are they metaphors too?"

"Oh no, no. They exist. Good luck finding any locally though," Spike chuckled.

"You know," Carly interrupted, "there was once a Christmas display at the edge of Portland using reindeer. The thing is, the reins came loose and they all made a bid for freedom. Some were caught, but there are tales that you'll find a small herd living wild in Water-Bridge Woods, north-west of Portland. That was about two decades ago – not sure if there are really any there now though." Sunstreaker's interest had been caught: he liked a mystery, especially one so close that he and his brother could investigate. One look outside at the fine rain and the muddy conditions changed his mind though. _Ah, they'll be there all year round. I'll see them later._ As he moved to scratch his helm he caught sight of a mark in his arm. It was such a big blemish – how had he not spotted it before?

* * *

Windcharger watched Sunstreaker turn to go, muttering about some non-existent mark on his right arm. He had heard about the rain-deer and wanted to see some before the human year was out.

"Water-Bridge Woods, you say?" He asked Carly, receiving a voiced affirmative in return. He had passed the place before – he could probably find them, but if he wanted to share this sight with the rest of the Ark, he would need help. He checked the rotas and found that, purely by luck, the mech he wanted was free for the rest of the evening: Trailbreaker. Now it was only a question of finding him.

Windcharger knocked on Trailbreaker's door and had an answer almost immediately.

"Yep?"

"I need your help."

"Yep?"

"I need to find a 'rain-deer'."

"Yep?"

"I need you to come out with me to Water-Bridge Woods and snag one with your force-field for me."

"So… you want me to go out with you into the muddy wet cold to find and bring back an Earth creature?"

"Yep." Trailbreaker scratched his chin.

"Alright – I'll just go get Hound."

"He needs to come?"

"Well, yeah," Trailbreaker shrugged, looking at the minibot as if Hound's necessity was the most obvious thing in the world. "His tracking skills will reduce the time we spend searching for them." Trailbreaker left his room and knocked on the neighbouring door. "Hound! Hound! We've got a special little night trip planned for you!" There was no answer. "I know he's in there," Trailbreaker said to Windcharger. "Hound! Get up you lazy so-and-so!" Windcharger heard a slump and a thud, followed by some scratching noises at the door.

"Ah, wo'choowan'?" Hound asked, optics bleary, and not sounding too friendly but not being outright rude either.

"We're going hunting. Come with us."

"Only if you carry me." Trailbreaker knew that this meant 'no', but instead put on a grin and picked him up.

"Fine. We're going to Water-Bridge Woods. We're after rain-deer."

"Rain-deer?" The tracker muttered. "I want to see some of those." Trailbreaker gave Windcharger the thumbs-up and began walking along the corridor to make their way outside.

* * *

More than a half-hour had passed by the time they reached their desired location. Without any leaves on the trees, the woods looked like a very foreboding place. And to be honest, Windcharger could not understand why they needed Hound with them: everything looked so exposed. Hound knelt down and looked at the mud.

"There are tracks here," he said.

"Oh-no, we'd better leave now then!" Trailbreaker said in mock panic. "One Tracks is enough to handle as it is!" The other two mechs smirked at him before Hound continued.

"These tracks are a few days old – we need to find fresher ones. But I think they belong to the creatures you're after." The three Autobots wandered into the woods, Hound in the lead, and after another half an hour, they came to a stop. "We should wait here," Hound whispered. "I think they come to feed here often." The three crouched and settled into comfortable positions and waited. And waited. And waited. "Windcharger… are rain-deer nocturnal or day-time creatures?"

* * *

Trailbreaker elbowed Windcharger – he had not realised that his concentration had strolled so much. He looked in front of him and his face-plate lit up with joy: there in front of him was the creature they had been searching for. He had to admit, it looked very majestic, with a lithe body and magnificent antlers. Windcharger nodded to Trailbreaker, who in turn did his part of the task. Held down within an energy-net, the reindeer began to buck and shout but it could not break free.

"Are you sure we should do this? The creature looks traumatised," Hound asked sceptically.

"It'll calm down in a little while – let's just take it to the Ark, show the others and release it," Trailbreaker replied. Windcharger remained silent. "Something wrong, little guy?"

"Well, to be honest, I was expecting it to be more… blue. You know – since it's called a rain-deer an' all and humans associate rain with water and water with the colour blue." Windcharger took out a card showing snowflakes down the side and the outline of a prancing reindeer in the centre. The animal was a light blue against a white background.

"Perhaps the 'rain' part is some kind of metaphor," Hound shrugged. "We'll ask the humans when we get back to the base."

* * *

When Sparkplug and Spike began to leave the Ark that evening and make their way back to Portland, they came upon a curious sight in the communications room: the Autobots had gathered around something that was obviously of great interest, and Raoul was sitting on one of the work stations, laughing into collapse.

"Raoul! Raoul – what is it?" Sparkplug asked.

"T-take take," the boy replied in between fits of giggles and short breaths. "Take a look for yaselves!" As they made their way through the forest of legs, they heard snippets of conversation:

"So that's what one looks like in real life! Some of the cards aren't really anatomically accurate, are they?"

"Do they make it rain? Are they only found during rainstorms? Is that how they get their name?"

"Ah thought the li'l critter would be blue!"

"Where'd you find it?"

"I'm not sure that creature should be in here – has it been threat-scanned? Is it healthy? Is it wounded? Is it diseased?" Spike saw it before his father.

"Oh, wow! A real live reindeer!" His father gasped in shock. The creature was obviously startled at the humans and Autobots and really did not know what to do. It tried squirming and bucking but still Trailbreaker's force-field kept it caged.

"Where'd you find that?" Sparkplug asked in astonishment.

"Water-Bridge Woods," Hound replied. "Where Carly told us they might be." He paused a moment. "Sparkplug, aren't rain-deer meant to be blue?" Raoul laughed even harder. "What connection do they have with rain?" Sparkplug paused a long moment to figure out the meaning of Hound's question.

"No! Not 'rain' – rein! R-E-I-N."

"So the name is not a metaphor or anything like that?"

"No! It's just a name!"

"Well, I assumed since most of Christmas is based in myths, legends and metaphors, these creatures would have something special about them too. Can they fly?"

"No! For the last time, it's only a name! Now return the poor thing back where you got it from!"

After making sure that everyone else had got a peek at the _rein_deer, Hound, Trailbreaker and Windcharger returned it to where it came from.

"Well, that was… an exciting little trip we had," Trailbreaker said as the reindeer bounded off back into the wilderness. "What are we going to do for next year?" Windcharger took a moment to contemplate how he could improve on bringing back a reindeer.

"How about next year, we try for a polar bear?"

End.

* * *

A/N: In most (in fact, probably all) fics I've read, Trailbreaker does not appear unless he is with Hound/Mirage. I want to change that. Thing is, they actually _need_ Hound as well in this story. Ha! 


	9. Star

**Star.**

"What are you doing out here, all on your own?" Mirage waited for the answer that hesitated on Hound's lip-components.

"Looking for the Christmas star," Hound replied. "The one that appears on all of the human cards at this time of year." He held up a card for Mirage to see: it was one of rolling hills, becoming fields and eventually mountains. In the foreground, there were ancient Earth shepherds with lambs at their feet. Their faces were turned towards a bright point in the sky: the Christmas star. "Perceptor thinks it is an astrological phenomenon and that this star can only be seen when this planet has a certain alignme-"

"I think it's just a metaphor, Hound," the spy replied warmly. He sat beside his friend and stared up at the heavens, the light and some of the heat from the base radiating on their backs.

"Yeah."

For a long time, no words passed between them. Hound spoke first.

"You still miss Cybertron?"

"Of course. I know you like it here – I'd go so far as to say that you love it – but do you ever miss Cybertron too?" Hound drew his thoughts out for a deep, long moment.

"Yes. Yes, I miss Cybertron sometimes, but I also love this world. Heh – shame we can't have 'the best of both worlds' as the humans say!" Mirage chuckled too at that: there were definitely aspects to this planet he liked too… mainly the lack of ruin. "Do you ever think that maybe one of these stars is actually Cybertron?"

"Yes," Mirage replied, feeling the lie catch in his voice and knowing that his friend had felt it too. All of those glittering sparks in the sky, like dust caught permanently passing through moonlight… Cybertron could be a single one of them, or perhaps not.

"Which one do you think it is?" Hound asked, carrying on the lie. Mirage stared upward, leaning back on his arm-junctions to get a better look. He was drawn to a patch over to their left, and finally he pointed out a single speck of time-caught dust.

"That one. Not too bright, but not too faint either. Mid distance."

"Ah." There was something comforting in their falsehoods to each other, something that gave them hope – that even though they were not currently able to see Cybertron, it did not necessarily mean that they would never see it again. It was then that it became clear to both of them how much lies and metaphors and symbols can truly mean... just like this strange human festival that they were celebrating. The Christmas star was a symbol of hope, and now the two of them had their very own 'Christmas Star'.

End.

* * *


	10. Santa Claus

**Santa Claus.**

The common-room went silent the moment Red Alert entered. Most 'bots were glaring at him with enough heat to melt his outer casing. Jazz and a few of the more light-hearted mechs just sat and laughed. The thoroughly embarrassed Security Director studied the floor as he made his way to get his supply of energon and swiftly left the room.

"What was all _that_ about?" Sparkplug asked a still-grinning Jazz.

"Well, Sparkplug, our dear ol' Security Director might not have minded th' tree, but he's not so keen on the rest'a it! Apparently, Ravage's findin' slippin' into the base easier now with everyone preoccupied wi' Christmas, an' he's found Lazerbeak perchin' on the tinsel in Communications more than once now!" Jazz's chest rumbled with another snigger.

"I don't understand: shouldn't people be glad that he's catching the Decepticons' infiltration attempts?"

"Well, yeah. The thing is, Red seems t' be the only one on alert. The stress has got t' him." Jazz stifled a laugh. "He's been settin' th' alarms off at random times throughout the night – mainly during th' most unused hours, you understand?" Sparkplug nodded. "And according to Inferno, it's all because he's having nightmares of infiltrating Santas and sleighs wi' bombs strapped under them an' everything!" Sparkplug guffawed, attempted to hold back the chuckles but ended up going into a full-pelting laugh that attracted every optic in the chamber.

"The poor man! What's Optimus doing to do to reassure him?" If it had been unfeasible for Jazz's smile to become any wider before, then it had just broken through the rules of reality.

"That's the best part, man! Y'see, Optimus thinks the best way for Red to overcome his irrational fear is t' face it!" The grin on Sparkplug's face faltered and became a flat-out look of confusion.

"Eh?"

* * *

He'd been stupid, setting those alarms off. He realised it quite clearly – or at least he did _now_, but at the time, after dreaming and believing that his friends and companions had just been ripped apart by a bomb disguised as a present, or _slain_ by a Megatron-Santa on a _sleigh_, it did not seem nearly so idiotic or laughable. In fact, they had been downright painful to experience. He had only set the alarms off to save those that had not 'died' in his dreams. Red Alert's thoughts and footsteps abruptly stopped as he noticed the tinsel along the hallway pulled tight. He took out his blaster and followed it to the source: a big plump birdie… by the name of Laserbeak. He simply perched there, defiantly staring the Security Director in the optics. It was obvious that the Decepticon was not going to budge willingly. 

"Go on – scoot! Unless you want to be the Christmas roast, you big turkey!" The metal bird gave a big yawn and unhurriedly stretched his wings before flying out of the Ark and off into the horizon.

Red Alert stood and watched for a good few minutes to make sure that he would not circle round and come back before he disappeared back inside himself. _Ironhide ought to have been on duty_, he thought angrily, staring at the flooring and stomping away. _How am I going to keep the Ark safe if I am the only one worried about security? Prime must hear about this! We cannot allow-_

"By Primus! What _madness_ has overcome you all?!" Red Alert was staring straight at his leader… covered in a red suit with a fluffy white trim. He recognised it as… a Santa suit. Ratchet and Inferno stood beside him, the red and white mechs only complimenting their leader's clothing further.

"What do you think, Red?" Optimus asked, gesturing at the clothes as a whole.

"Where did it come from? Who made it – how did it get into the base without my knowledge? Has it been threat-scanned?" He took a step back and pointed a shaky digit. "What's that in the pocket?" Optimus casually stuck his hand in and pulled out a big white beard and hat to match the rest of the outfit. He put them on.

"I'm going to go give some cheer to the children of Portland," Prime told him. "And _you_'re going to join me." Jazz stepped around from behind Prime and held up a Santa suit for the Security Director. The thought of wearing it sent a surge through his circuits. "Now it's not quite an elf-suit as we couldn't get the fabrics for the tailor, but I think you'll look better in this – it'll go with your paintwork!"

"I'm not putting that on! This is all a conspiracy – a conspiracy to embarrass me!"

"But the children are expecting us!" Prime put on a look of such disappointment; it could have rivalled Bluestreak's. He was a crafty one, their leader.

"I-I can't go with you – Laserbeak was here!"

"Oh _dear_: he might steal our secret recipe for ener-nogg," Ratchet sniped. "Get going: I'll baby-sit the kiddies. It's not like it wouldn't happen anyway, what with the short intervals they stay out of my med-bay." Everything went quiet. Red Alert seriously contemplated making a dash for it, taking slow steps backward. Inferno charged forward and wrestled the Security Director to the ground.

"Quick! Quick! Put the suit on 'im now!" The fire engine laughed.

"Inferno! I thought you were my friend! Stop this!"

"Hehehe!"

Once Red Alert was finally wearing his 'Santa' suit, it looked like it was apt for him.

"Ya'll have all the ladies in Portland chasin' you around in that!" Inferno whistled and slapped his friend on the back. Jazz did not think he had ever seen the Security Director looking so sulky. He took a picture. Red Alert made for his neck, only to be stopped by Prime.

"You'll be riding in my trailer now Red," Optimus told him. "We should make a move or we'll never make it to Portland in time. I'm going to show you that there's nothing to fear from this holiday. _Nothing at all,_" the stress Optimus put on the last few words did not enthuse Red Alert in the slightest. What Red Alert did not realise was that if this plan did not succeed, then it would be counselling sessions with Smokescreen.

"Yippee," was his lifeless and sarcastic reply. When he realised that there was no getting out of this, he scraped together what was left of his dignity and climbed into Prime's trailer.

"See ya later, friend!" Inferno called to him.

"You are _not_ my friend!" Red Alert's reply reverberated in his prison.

"See ya Red – don't forget to smile for the children now!" The red and white Lamborghini spoke no more to them and Prime quickly drove away. Jazz held up the Polaroid of Red Alert brooding in his outfit. "This is going straight on the common-room board," Jazz told them, Inferno nodding over it in agreement. Ratchet leaned in, carrying an unusually mischievous leer.

"Let's make copies."

End.

* * *

A/N: Only two more to go! And I would really enjoy seeing an artist's impression of Red Alert in a Santa suit... hint hint! 


	11. Traditions

**Traditions.**

Optimus Prime stared at the tree and all of the decorations that had gone onto it. The self-made decorations were definitely his favourites; he could figure out who had made most of them by how well he knew his subordinates… or by process of elimination. Some of them still eluded him though.

Not everyone had managed to get into the spirit of the holiday, and Prime admitted that even though he had made the effort, he was one of those mechs. Still, he had learned a lot about the humans and his crew through this festival.

"I think that we should engage in more of the human's festivals and traditions, Ratchet," he told the CMO standing next to him.

"Oh, so adopting trees and dressing them up isn't enough?"

"Now you cannot say that you didn't get anything out of Christmas, can you Ratchet?" The medic failed in his valiant attempt to prevent a smile spreading across his face.

"No, you're right. Seeing you and Red Alert dressed up as idiots in red _was_ worth it." Optimus ignored the remark. "To be honest, most human traditions seem to have lost their meaning to obscurity and are only done for selfish means. I mean, look at Halloween: parties and sweets, that's the only reason for its existence no matter what the original intention was behind it! Do we _really_ want to celebrate those kinds of festivals?"

"Old grouch-pants," Prime muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Ah, look! There's Sparkplug! Sparkplug!" The human caught sight of the glint in Ratchet's optics and decided to run for sanity. "Sparkplug… Sparkplug! Come back here you sack of chemicals! How on Earth can you manage to run so fast?" Ratchet grabbed his shirt-collar.

"You know, if it wasn't for all of the festive foods I've been eating recently, I would have given you the slip!" The human replied.

"Mmmm," Ratchet murmured in agreement. "If it wasn't for those mince pies, the red wine, and then the potato chips and beer and burgers you usually eat all year round…"

"Alright, alright! Stop insulting me and tell me what you want already."

"What other traditions do humans display at this time of the year?" Optimus asked him.

"Hmmm… let's see… we've already done mistletoe, the Christmas tree, presents… what about carolling?"

"What?"

"Carolling: going around from house to house, singing festive songs. For money." Ratchet gave Prime a face that obviously said _I told you so_. "For charity," Sparkplug added as he saw the look pass between them. "Then there's the Yule log, and the Christmas pudding."

"Oh, more food," Ratchet quipped.

"What's a Christmas pudding?"

"It's a cake that you, uh, put objects into. Things like twigs and coins and stuff."

"What's the point of that? To attempt to kill off your visiting relations and guests?" The CMO was still unimpressed.

"If only," Sparkplug muttered under his breath, thinking out his dear, sweet, loud and annoying sister-in-law.

"Well, do Cybertronians have traditions? What do you do?"

"You wouldn't be interested: our traditions aren't nearly so enshrouded in obscurity, despite being millennia older."

"We have holidays to celebrate the dead," Prime explained to him. "Where we write the names of our lost ones onto something that carries in the wind – like a balloon or a sail – and we send it off, away from us. It serves as a reminder that just because we cannot see it, does not mean that it never happened, or that it no longer exists." Sparkplug had seen Bluestreak and Hound releasing a balloon with scrawls on it in the early Autumn. Perhaps it had been an old Cybertronian tradition. "Then there's a tradition for creators: when they make a new robot, be it Autobot or Decepticon, they engrave the faction's symbol and the first and last letters of the robot's name into the first wall that their creation sees."

"Back before most of Cybertron was destroyed, there were chambers that had Decepticon and Autobot symbols almost filling entire walls. They were – are – considered very auspicious places, as so many lives had been brought into existence there," Ratchet put in. "We have other traditions as well, but I can't tell you all of them now. Depending on what city you came from, you might celebrate different things at different times of the Cybertronian cycle." Ratchet sighed and shook his head, thinking about all that had gone before and how all of it was gone. "I don't know sometimes – what's the point of it all? All those celebrations, all those reasons to party – and good parties they were too – but none of it really matters when your life is on the line. Most of it had been forgotten. Most people don't care anymore for strange, symbolic traditions, no matter how old they are. What's the point in carrying it all on?"

"To 'pass on the torch'," Sparkplug said. "To give something to the next generation that they can make their own. To give them something that has come from generations before – a sense of belonging and history. To give them memories that will be theirs and theirs alone. And to mark the passing of time." Sparkplug said all of this as if it was the most obvious thing of all. When Prime thought about it, it was.

"Hey Optimus! Hi, Ratchet! Hi Sparkplug!" Optimus looked down to see the smiling little face of Bumblebee staring up at him.

"Do you need anything, Bumblebee?"

"Well, I was wondering if you had any wrapping paper spare. Y'see, I was finishing off wrapping Sunstreaker's present and starting on Sideswipe's when I ran out."

"I think Prowl bought extra, just to be on the safe side."

"Ha – sounds like him. Thanks Prime!" The jolly young Beetle took one glance at the tree and left the room, looking to fill his part in the Christmas tradition.

End.

* * *

A/N: I don't have enough time to write and submit the final chapter now, so I will submit it in what will be for me, here in England, 2007. Happy New Year everyone! 


	12. Jesus and Nativity

A/N: Thank you to all of those readers and reviewers who have been following these short stories fom start to finish: if I didn't have an audience, there would be no reason for me to continue.

* * *

**Jesus/Nativity.**

"So Christmas is about this Jesus bloke," Sunstreaker said, continuing on from his last conversation with Spike.

"Yes, that's right, Sunstreaker: Christmas is about 'this Jesus bloke'."

"So what are we celebrating about this Jesus bloke? Why does he deserve his own festival?"

"Well, this was the day that the great Jesus bloke was born." Sunstreaker sneered.

"That's _it_? All the guy had to do was be created and he's famous?"

"Well, no. And yes."

"This had better not be like your reply to my 'is a carpenter the king of kings' question: 'It's _metaphorical_, Sunstreaker – it's _all_ metaphorical!'" The yellow Lamborghini mimicked appallingly.

"If you're going to have a hissy-fit, I'll leave you to it."

"I'm not having a hissy-fit," he replied serenely. Spike took a moment to let tempers calm and instead of talking, they eyed each other in their communication interval.

"Well, we celebrate the birth of Jesus because he was the son of God." Sunstreaker tried very hard not to roll his head or his optics. "And he performed many miracles in his life: walking on water, bringing people back from the dead, feeding five thousand people with only five loaves of bread and two fish and still having food left over." Sunstreaker harrumphed.

"_I_ could do that – with four very large loaves and four very large fish." Spike laughed.

"Was it fish or fishes?"

"Dunno."

"It's fish if they are of the same species, fishes if they are of different species."

"Dunno. I think they were of the same species. Fish then. Anyway, _before_ you mention the walking on water part, this _was_ back in an age when we didn't have the technology to do anything like it." The yellow one shut his maw.

"Alright. Fine. So why's his creation so important?"

"He was the man that died so that he may live – he died for our sins." Self-sacrifice – a martyr. Sunstreaker had heard of many throughout Cybertronian history – he had witnessed mechs becoming martyrs. Some had been his friends.

"So what did he fight against that caused him to become a martyr?"

"The human condition." Oh – a _metaphor_.

"What?"

"Jesus tried to make us more than just selfish, self-important self-obsessed individuals."

"Hah – if you don't mind me saying, he failed. Quite miserably."

"Well, that's your opinion. I think he made us better people." Sunstreaker would give a witty retort, but he had none: he had not spent adequate time with enough humans to actually, _properly_ judge them. He had been on the planet a year – what had prevented him from finding out more?

"But that was his death. So why did this Jesus bloke get a day celebrating his birth as well as his death?"

"Because of his unusual conception."

"What?"

"A virgin gave birth to him."

"What?" Spike could not help but grin at Sunstreaker's confusion.

"Sunstreaker… how much do you know about human procreation?"

* * *

Another joint was soldered and he regained control of his upper right limb once more. He could not help but lift his head and watch as he flexed the digits, wrist junction and lower arm. 

"Ah, it feels good to have that working again," he said, relief evident in his voice.

"You're _welcome_," came the automatic reply, lacking in any warmth. The patient lay on the operating table, waiting for his doctor to finish with his circuitry repairs. The nearby workbench contained all of the proper tools and equipment, spread out in the proper order. Yet he noticed something that should not have been there: something human-sized. The craned his neck and strained his visuals to get a clear look. It was a standing picture with three richly-dressed humans bending over an animal trough at night. A human child was in the manger. A man and a woman wearing plainer clothing sat in the background, watching over the child.

"What's that, Starscream?" Starscream gave a cursory glance at the object and jeered.

"_That,_ Hook, is what the humans call a _Christmas_ card, relating to their festival of Christmas that _apparently_ happens once every complete _Earth_ cycle of their star. It was _given_ to me by _Skyfire_," he said the name with a particular disdain. "He _slipped_ it to me in the last battle, but _not_ before getting in a little speech on the season of 'goodwill to _all_ mechs' and it being a 'time for _forgiveness_'."

"You seem to know a lot about this human festival, Starscream."

"You do not _gain_ power without first gaining _knowledge_, Hook."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to _keep_ it."

"Oh?"

"To _remind_ me what _saps_ these humans and Autobots can be."

"Argh!"

"My _apologies_ – my concentration _wandered_."

"It's alright… but please, don't let it happen again." Starscream gave Hook his characteristic grin. Hook supposed it was meant to assuage him, but even without that malevolent glint in his eye, it was not reassuring. Starscream continued on with the repairs, hearing the jovial sounds of a victory party no more than ten astro-metres away. He could have been in there, and left Hook until the morning. And yet, for some reason, he had not.

"Thank you, Starscream." The jet Second-in-Command did not even ask what for.

"You're _welcome_, Hook."

End.

* * *


End file.
